Scars of the Unseen
by Reiya Wakayama
Summary: A/M, post season 3, Merlin knew full well that there were risks to being Arthur's protector, a hidden wall of magic between the prince and the rest of the world, with scars that even the Prince should not, and hopefully, will never know about.


**Title:** Scars of the Unseen  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Merlin is owned by the BBC and other associated parties. I do not make any profit from this story and the plot is purely fiction.  
><strong>Summary: <strong>A/M, post season 3, Merlin knew full well that there were risks to being Arthur's protector, a hidden wall of magic between the prince and the rest of the world, with scars that even the Prince should not, and hopefully, will never know about.  
><strong>Rating:<strong>PG-13  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Spoilers season 1-3, UST.  
><strong>PairingsCharacters:** Arthur, Merlin.  
><strong>Length:<strong> 1,421  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> This was my first entry for the Merlin Melee contest over on Lj. My prompt was H/C and my word was scars.

xXx

Merlin has seen the prince in full, knows that although he is golden, there are specks of silver that mark his skin, marks of violence inflicted upon him by enemy and friend alike. Being a knight comes with its occupational hazards when all that keeps razor sharp steel from sliding through your skin is a thin sheet of metal or interwoven links that drape your frame like a shining tunic, the sleeves open and flowing.

No. Scars are not new to the manservant and occasional friend. He has been trained by Gaius to a certain degree and often times it is he who tends to the cuts and scrapes, cleaning them and dressing them in place of Gaius. Each is different, distinct in shape and place.

He knows where each one is, what caused it, and when they happened; though there are some from before he met the prat of a prince. He can see them in his mind, each and every one, and he judges himself on them; learning from past mistakes that could have been avoided if he had been more diligent. He knows scars can't be avoided, but some would have never happened if he had just ipaid/i attention.

Of course as Arthur's manservant there are certain duties that only he is to perform. Often times, the larger scars pain the prince. Usually in the winter or just before a large rain storm breaks free and rains the heavens down on them. There is one that runs down the curve of Arthur's back, biting deep into the muscle. That one was one from before Merlin came to Camelot, when the prince and a group of his knights had been ambushed. Gaius says that the prince was lucky to not have anything worse than some occasional pain.

Another is around his leg where the shinbone had been struck by a mace, shattering the bone and tearing into the flesh and muscle. That one often causes the most pain, acting up after a long day in the saddle or too much time walking or running; though he hides the slight limp well. Even Merlin hadn't noticed at first, but by now he knows all of the little signs that Arthur gives off due to pain and has since learned to act accordingly.

Tonight is one such night he performs these duties. As the darkness draws in even closer due to rain drenched clouds, he sets to work. Gaius had shown him how to do this, explaining what the oil did for skin and muscle, and the bone deep aches. Gently, but pressing deep, his pale fingers work a mild smelling oil into Arthur's muscled back; working any knots out, soothing any strained muscles or tendons. As he passes over a scar he works extra oil into it, chasing away any lingering aches.

By now Arthur has turned into a puddle in his bed, looking so relaxed that he appears to be near sleep, though the occasional murmur or grunt indicates otherwise. Merlin works his way down, hands indifferent, averting his gaze some as he works over pale cheeks, and down muscled thighs to get to the once damaged lower leg. The scar is large and though mostly flat; a few raised ridges run through it from deeper damage.

Arthur lets out a grateful moan as Merlin works his magic, fingers pressing deep into the muscle, spreading heat to relax it. Merlin feels his face heat up some at the sound but he ignores it as best he can, keeping his mind and eyes focused on the leg in front of him and not the fully naked body stretched out on the soft bed he kneels on.

Finished with one leg he works over to the other, being thorough so the prince can sleep more comfortably tonight. As he pulls back, finished, Arthur rotates his head sluggishly, neck muscles relaxed and almost unwilling to move. He smiles at his manservant, unabashed by his nudity and grateful for the alleviation from the pain. "Thank you." Arthur only ever really thanks him after this, when he is relaxed, the burden of being prince smoothed away by kneading fingers. It has taken a while, but Merlin has grown used to this uncharacteristic display and cherishes every time he say it.

Turning away to pick up his things, he can hear the rustle of sheets as Arthur slides underneath and Merlin has to keep himself in check to not turn and to keep his mind from wondering. It's hard, but he learned long ago how to not think about it. Things gathered, he turns to the now blanket covered prince. "Will that be all?" He really wants to get away to his room, though he doubts he'll get much sleep.

The prince nods and Merlin works his way around the room, blowing out the candles except for the last one, picking it up and carrying it with him to the door. Looking back, Arthur is already asleep, hair haloed around him as he snores softly, face relaxed and peaceful. Smiling just a little, he blows out the candle, setting it in the bracket on the wall and leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Gaius has already retired when he slips through the door, so he shuts the door quietly and maneuvers his way through the maze of a room to climb the stairs to his room. It is dark; the window shut to keep the rain that is still falling heavily from entering. His eyes flash gold and the candle lights; sending flickering shadows around the small sleeping space.

He toes his boots off and walks barefooted to his wash table, the shallow basin full of tepid water at best, and cold at worst. Unknotting his belt, he slips the thin material of his shirt over his head and bends down to splash water over his face and neck, shivering in the cool air.

Standing back up, the candle flashes in the small mirror he had scavenged. Its edges were tarnished and slightly warped but it was not cracked and was still clear enough to see in. As drops of water run down his thin chest, his eyes are drawn to silver on white of his own scars.

They've added up over the years, marking his pale flesh. There is the one in the center of his chest from where Aulfric's staff had struck, magic crackling around and through him in blue white agony. Like his other's it has slightly silvered, but it is different, a slight bluish tent is cast over it; as if the Sidhe magic has affected his body in more ways than one.

More ordinary scars mark his body. There is slight scaring around his wrists and neck from so many times in the stocks. A small raised scar on his arm from when they had fought the knights of Idirsholas. His first battle wound, or so Arthur thinks. Although he can't see it, he knows it there, a curving scar along his lower back, a glancing blow from where a bandit's blade had struck as he focused on keeping Arthur alive, though the prince didn't know about it.

Small scars crisscross his hands, small nicks from where his hand had slipped as he sharpened or oiled his prince's blades. A smaller but deep scar runs across his ribs, caused by flying debris as he stopped Morgause from killing Arthur.

There is one though that only Kilgharrah knows of, high on his shoulder blade, one he keeps hidden with a glamor. Shaped like a triangle, it had bit deep into the muscle, the poison that followed setting the area on fire as it worked through his body. He hadn't known at the time, when the dragon had saved him and had worked magic to heal his battered body. Magic had seeped in like the poison, spreading warmth and soothing numbness, easing the pain. The magic had spread golden through his veins, but as the spell had finished it had dyed the scar gold, an ever present reminder of the magic coursing through his vein.

Yes, scars were not something new. It came with the job of protecting Arthur from those who wished him dead for his father's mistakes and failings. He stood tall, an impenetrable wall, and his body taking the scars that were meant for the prince. These scars were a constant reminder of what he stood for and he would keep them hidden from Arthur, for he must remain unseen if he is to continue to protect his prince.

bEnd./b


End file.
